


Nice to Be You

by opal_earrings



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Mild Language, Not Canon Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Platonic Soulmates, Sweet Peter Parker, he is very overwhelmed, so peter's spiderman but he hasn't met tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26029594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opal_earrings/pseuds/opal_earrings
Summary: "Heart fluttering, Peter padded over to the sink with his gaze fixed on the floor. After a moment of psyching himself up, he looked up at the mirror.And froze.What the—what the—there was no way—Tony Stark’s face stared back at him, eyes widened in shock."Soulmate au where, on the day you turn fifteen, you wake up in your soulmate’s body for the day. Tomorrow is Peter’s birthday, and he isnotprepared for the face he is going to wake up to.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 87
Kudos: 750





	1. Peter

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fluffiest thing I have ever written, but hopefully it will help to break me out of my writer's block! And for clarity's sake: Peter is Spider-Man in this, but he and Tony have never met.
> 
> Thank you for clicking on my fic, and I hope you enjoy! <3

Peter couldn’t sleep.

He rolled over, flustered, and pulled his duvet up over his face. No, that was too hot. And now he couldn’t breathe. _Ugh._ With a frustrated groan, he kicked the duvet away and rolled onto his back. He stared at the underside of the upper bunk and dragged his hands down his face.

After a moment, he glanced at the alarm clock on his nightstand. Three twenty-seven a.m. He should definitely be asleep, but he just couldn’t shut his mind up long enough to drift off _._ His whole body felt wired with endlessly buzzing electricity, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he looked down at his hands and they were glowing. There was no way he was sleeping tonight—he was _way_ too excited.

Because tomorrow was his fifteenth birthday, and in the morning, he would wake up in his soulmate’s body for the day.

Well, as May kept reminding him, he _might._

So long as he was the younger soulmate, he would. Everyone had told him not to get his hopes up. It was entirely possible that Peter was the older soulmate, and tomorrow would be tinged with a slight sense of disappointment as he woke up to his own bedroom, Star Wars figurines staring down at him in sympathy.

Peter just had a feeling. He couldn’t explain it, but he was pretty certain he would wake up somewhere else tomorrow.

Which was the greatest contributing factor to why he couldn’t sleep right now. He might be finding out who his soulmate was tomorrow morning! How much older would they be? Would they be male or female? What if they weren’t American and didn’t speak English? It wasn’t _that_ rare that people woke up in Europe, or Asia, or Africa, surrounding by strangers speaking a language they didn’t know a single word of.

Peter hoped they spoke English. He’d only just scraped an A in Spanish, and he didn’t speak any other languages.

Or what if he woke up to something really bad? Like, what if his soulmate was a murderer? Would Peter have to support that? _Please don’t be a murderer_ , he thought.

And then— _Shh. No. Go to sleep._

Weak morning light crept through the gaps in Peter’s blinds. Great, the sun had already risen, and he still wasn’t asleep. What would happen if he couldn’t sleep?

He rolled over to face the wall and squeezed his eyes shut. _Go to sleep go to sleep go to sleep_ , he told himself.

And, eventually, he did.

***

When Peter woke up, everything felt different.

Plus, his chest kind of hurt. As did his back. And his knees. He groaned and pulled the duvet cover closer to his face, then frowned as he noticed two things.

First, his duvet cover had become a _lot_ softer overnight.

And second—did he have a _beard?_

He brushed the back of a finger across his jawline, skin catching on short, prickly hairs. What the—oh.

_Oh!_

Peter shot up, all sleepiness forgotten. He blinked sleep out of his eyes—his _soulmate’s_ eyes—as he glanced around his soulmate’s bedroom.

It was huge and sleek, all wooden floorboards and sleek chrome hardware and a tastefully neutral color palette. The bed alone was about the size of Peter’s bedroom, and the mattress and sheets were so comfortable compared to his own tatty, desperately-in-need-of-a-replacement ones back home.

“Damn,” Peter whispered to himself. “My soulmate is _rich.”_

He’d barely finished speaking before something beeped. Peter flinched and pulled the duvet close against his chest. The far wall began to change, and Peter soon realized it wasn’t a wall at all. It was a huge, floor-to-ceiling window, artificially darkened against the morning light, and as he watched it slowly turned transparent to let the sun in.

“Good morning, sir,” said a male voice, and Peter jumped again, looking around to find who was in the room with him. “It is seven thirty-two a.m., and the weather today is eighty-six degrees and sunny. Steve is currently preparing breakfast in the kitchen if you wish to join him.”

It was the ceiling. The voice was coming from the _ceiling._

Before Peter could question _that,_ the view out the windows caught his attention.

“Holy shit,” Peter whispered, reverent. He stumbled out of bed and crossed the room. “Like, _super_ rich.”

The floor-to-ceiling windows gave way to one of Peter’s favorite views in the whole world: the New York skyline. Peter was used to seeing it from a distance or lit up at night on his daily patrols, so this was the first time he had seen it from this angle as the morning sun poured between towering concrete skyscrapers. Was this really the view his soulmate woke up to every morning?

It was _incredible._ Peter pressed himself close up against the glass to peer down. They were so high. This had to be a penthouse, right? His soulmate lived in a penthouse with views like this. Shit.

Peter laughed a little as he spared a thought for his soulmate, likely experiencing the shock of his life waking up in Peter’s ratty bedroom in Queens.

He was so entertained by the idea that he turned away from the window without noticing the one building that was conspicuously absent from the skyline.

“Holy _shit,”_ Peter whispered to himself again. He pressed his hands against his face, his beard—his soulmate’s beard—digging into his palms, and danced side to side happily. His soulmate. Today was the day he would _finally_ find out who his soulmate was!

“Sir?” repeated the voice from the ceiling. “You appear to be acting strangely. Has something happened that I was not informed of?”

Why was some British dude spying on him?

“Yeah,” Peter said, words hitching with a laugh. “Yeah. Oh my God, this is so cool. This is insane. I need to tell Ned!” He shook his head. “Can’t tell Ned. Don’t have my phone. Oh, this is so weird!”

The ceiling asked another question, but as it did, Peter glanced to his left, catching a door open to what appeared to be an en suite bathroom. Peter grinned and skipped in its direction. The bathroom would have a mirror.

Peter’s jaw dropped open at the polished marble surfaces—was that a bathtub or swimming pool, holy shit—but he quickly moved on from the fact that this was the most incredible bathroom he had ever been in. His attention was fixed on the mirror.

Heart fluttering, he padded over to the sink with his gaze fixed on the floor. After a moment of psyching himself up, he looked up at the mirror.

And froze.

What the—what the—there was _no way—_

Tony Stark’s face stared back at him, eyes widened in shock.

Peter gaped, watching as Tony Stark’s face also gaped. He was Tony Stark. How the—what the—

“What the _fuck.”_

His language today. May would be so disappointed.

Oh God, May. What time had the ceiling said? Seven thirty? That meant May would be waking up soon, to find _Tony Stark’s mind_ inside Peter’s body.

May hated Tony Stark.

A hysterical laugh slipped out. Oh, what wouldn’t Peter give to be a fly on the wall for _that_ discussion.

What the fuck. What the _fuck._ Peter was in Tony Stark’s body.

_Tony Stark._

Peter’s soulmate was _Tony Stark._ Like, The Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, Iron Man. The man Peter had looked up to for years, ever since he came out as Iron Man and then saved Peter’s life a few months later. The man he’d been dreaming of earning the approval of ever since the spider bite. He’d woken up in his idol’s body.

At least Peter’s observation had been correct. His soulmate was _super_ rich.

He ran his hands through Tony’s Stark’s hair, over that iconic beard. It looked a little scraggly. Was he—was he gonna have to shave that? Would Tony Stark be mad at him if he let his beard go scraggly?

Peter shook that ridiculous thought out of his mind.

He cocked his head, remembering what the ceiling had said.

“Uh—ceiling guy?”

“I assume that refers to me, sir?”

“Y—yeah. You, uh, you said that, um, Steve was making breakfast?”

“That is correct.”

“So by Steve did you mean, like, Captain America? Steve Rogers?”

The ceiling’s voice was tinged with concern. “Who else would I be referring to?”

Peter shrugged, running his hands over his face—Tony Stark’s face—again. “Right. Of course you meant Captain America. Of course. Who else?” Another hysterical laugh. “Oh my God, this is so weird.”

“Sir, you are acting strangely, but you do not appear to be inebriated. Neither do you appear to have a fever. Should I call the medical team?”

Peter shook his head as he walked back into the bedroom. He glanced down at what he was wearing—pajama pants and a T-shirt, which would have to do. He wasn’t gonna go snooping around in Tony Stark’s closet. That would be weird.

“No, uh. I’m fine. I’m, um. Not Tony, though. I’m Peter. Parker. Nice to meet you, ceiling guy.”

The ceiling was silent for a long moment. And then— “Do you mean to say that you are Mr. Stark’s soulmate, Mr. Parker?”

Peter nodded. Goosebumps rose on his arms, and he rubbed them with his hands. “Yeah. I—uh, I think so?”

“That is wonderful news,” said the ceiling, sounding proud. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am JARVIS, an AI developed by Mr. Stark to act as his personal assistant.”

Well, at least he wasn’t a real person. That was a huge relief.

“You’re an AI? That’s so cool! And would you be able to, um, help me?”

JARVIS’s voice was warm. “Of course, Mr. Parker. There is no protocol in place for this situation, however, I am certain that sir would wish for me to assist you to the best of my ability.”

Peter nodded, shaking with anticipation of what was about to happen. “Then could you please direct me to the kitchen?”

His whole body was jittery, and he couldn’t help the grin that had plastered itself across his face. He was about to meet the _Avengers._

JARVIS acquiesced, and, in gentle tones, guided Peter through the penthouse. This place was incredible, Peter couldn’t help but notice as he walked, but he didn’t spare a thought for how luxurious his surroundings were. He was slightly distracted by everything that was happening, after all.

Peter reached the kitchen and nervously peeked around the corner. Oh, God. This was so surreal. Captain America was by the stove, making pancakes. _Captain America!_ And Black Widow stood next to him, coffee in one hand, gesturing with the other as she spoke. Neither of them were in costume—of course they weren’t, that was silly. They were dressed in workout clothes, and it was super weird.

Oh God. Oh God. At least there were only two—Peter wasn’t quite sure he could handle more than two Avengers right now, not so soon after waking up in _Tony Stark’s body._

Black Widow’s sentence cut off and her gaze snapped up, meeting Peter’s eyes. (Tony’s?) Oh, shit. Busted.

Her voice was friendly, but she was eyeing him like she had already twigged something was up. “Morning, Tony.”

Feeling rather like he was trespassing, Peter stepped into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around himself awkwardly.

“Uh, hi?” he squeaked.

Oh, that was so not cool. Black Widow frowned, and Captain America looked up from his pancakes.

“Tony?” he asked, concerned.

Might as well bite the bullet. “Yeah, uh, about that.” Peter laughed awkwardly. “I’m not Tony.”

Both Avengers were immediately on the defensive. Captain America turned around, somehow managing to make himself look even larger—his biceps were bigger than Peter’s entire head—and Black Widow pulled out a knife, seemingly from nowhere. Why did she even have that on her?

Peter squeaked and jumped backwards, hands up as if that would protect him. “I’m not—I’m not a bad guy! I swear! Don’t hurt me!”

Both their faces were still stern.

“Then would you care to explain who you are and how you got in here?” Black Widow’s voice was smooth but dangerous, and it sent shivers down Peter’s spine.

“I woke up here. I’m—I’m, um, I’m Tony’s soulmate.”

Both Avengers’ faces softened in surprise, and they exchanged a glance. Black Widow still hadn’t put the knife away, though, and she could probably slit his throat with it before Peter could even blink, so he wasn’t going to relax yet.

“Please believe me. I don’t really know how I’m meant to convince you? But, um, my name’s Peter Parker. I live in Queens. And this is super weird. I’ve always wanted to meet you guys, but I never thought it would happen like _this.”_

Warily, Black Widow put away her knife. “Well, this is unexpected.”

Captain America stepped forwards with a bright smile on his face, abandoning his pancakes. “Sorry about that, Peter. We have to be cautious.”

The tension eased from Peter’s shoulders and he laughed weakly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’d like to apologize for scaring you,” Captain America continued, offering a hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Call me Steve.”

Weakly, Peter took Steve’s hand, not caring that his handshake probably wasn’t all that impressive right now. He was shaking hands with Captain America!

“Peter,” he repeated. “And, um, you really don’t have to apologize, sir.”

Then Black Widow was there, scoffing slightly. She nudged Steve. “Surreal to see polite words coming out of Tony’s mouth,” she commented, then turned to Peter. “Natasha.”

And now he was shaking hands with Black Widow! This was the best birthday ever!

The three of them stood there for a moment, Peter glancing around the kitchen. The Avengers’ kitchen.

“Would you like pancakes?” Steve offered, then he laughed. “Sorry, it’s been a while since this happened to me. What’s the etiquette nowadays?”

“Convincing your soulmate’s friends not to kill you is always a good step one,” said Natasha.

“I would love some pancakes, though,” said Peter, voice small.

Before Steve could finish up breakfast, however, JARVIS interrupted.

“I must inform you that two unknown individuals are currently on their way up in the elevator. I allowed them entry as one of them appeared to know all of sir’s override codes.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “That will be Tony.”

“Who’s the other person?” asked Steve.

The two Avengers left the kitchen, so Peter followed behind, out into a huge living room with incredible views over the Chrysler building. This place was amazing, like something Peter remembered seeing that one time he and Ned had entertained themselves by going on property websites and sorting the price from high to low, fantasizing about what it would be like to be rich.

A paneled section of the far wall opened up and two people stepped out. Peter’s eyes immediately landed on _himself._

As if waking up in Tony Stark’s body hadn’t been weird enough, now his own body was walking towards them. Peter had never seen himself from the outside before. Why had no-one told him his nose looked like that?

And then the other person was—

“May!”

Peter sprinted across the room, momentarily forgetting that he was currently in Tony Stark’s body. May’s eyes widened in shock before Peter threw his arms around her. He let her go a moment later and bounced happily on the balls of his feet.

“May, this is so cool! You said it wouldn’t happen, but it did!” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “And look who my soulmate is!”

At his enthusiasm, May’s eyes softened, but she still looked slightly weirded out.

“Oh, that’s Peter alright,” she said with a smile.

“Well I’m glad someone is having a good morning,” said a voice—was that Peter’s voice? Was that really what he sounded like?

May scoffed. “Oh, you’re one to talk! I woke up this morning expecting Peter’s soulmate to be some nice, polite teenager, all excited to find out who their soulmate is. I bought _muffins_ for them. Instead, I wake up to Tony Stark freaking out and accusing me of having kidnapped him—”

“Alright, that’s enough of that,” said Tony. “And in my defense, it’s been thirty-one years since I was fifteen. Had kind of stopped expecting to wake up somewhere unfamiliar any time soon.” He turned and strolled towards Peter, every movement far more confident than Peter imagined he looked in his own body. “Peter, right?”

Peter nodded, starstruck even though it was his own face he was looking at. “Um, yeah. Peter.”

“Pleasure to meet you. Can’t say it isn’t a little unexpected, but if you’re my soulmate, you’re probably adaptable. I heard you’re a fan of mine.”

Immediately, heat rushed to Peter’s—Tony’s? Ugh, this was so confusing—face. _“May,”_ he groaned. “What did you tell him?”

May smiled, enjoying this _far_ too much. “You have an Iron Man poster on your wall, Pete. And remember that photo of you next to the door, in your helmet and gauntlets?”

Peter buried his face in his hands. This was the absolute _worst._ His face felt like it was on fire. May hated Tony Stark—why were they ganging up to embarrass him?

“It’s admirable,” said Tony. “Good taste. I’d expect nothing less from my soulmate. Although I think I spotted a Captain America action figure on your shelf, so I might have to officially put you on probation until you convince me that was an unwanted Christmas gift and not there by choice.”

 _“Mr. Stark,”_ groaned Peter.

May shook her head, staring at Tony. “It’s so weird to see someone else’s mannerisms on Peter’s face.”

“Think about how we felt,” said Steve, “hearing Tony actually being polite.”

Natasha nodded in agreement.

Tony frowned. “Hey. This is supposed to be mine and Peter’s moment. Can we hold off on the character defamation until afterward? Especially with the headache Peter must have right now.”

Peter jumped slightly and tilted his head in confusion. “I don’t—I don’t have a headache.”

Tony turned to him. God, it was so weird being spoken to by someone else wearing his face. Especially _Tony Stark_ wearing his face. “You’re not hungover right now?”

 _“Stark,”_ snapped May.

Peter was still just confused. “Um, no?”

Tony’s face softened in amusement and he turned to Steve, hands held up. “Well, would you look at that?” He laughed to himself. “The soulmate magic cures hangovers. There must be a way to capitalize on that. But first—are those pancakes I smell? What better way to get to know one another than sitting down for an all-American breakfast courtesy of our all-American, spangly friend over here.”

Tony firmly patted Peter on the shoulder and then began guiding the rest of them towards the kitchen without anyone else being allowed a say at all.

This was so weird. He was about to have breakfast with the Avengers. Should he tell them about Spider-Man? No. No, that wasn’t a good idea.

Peter spared a glance at May, who looked about as overwhelmed and slightly hysterical as Peter felt. He slipped his hand into hers and squeezed tightly.

“I feel like I’m dreaming.”

May laughed weakly. “Me too. But I don’t think my brain could dream up something as terrible as Tony Stark being your soulmate.”

Peter skipped happily. He didn’t think his mind could have imagined something as _incredible_ as his soulmate being Tony Stark—but he and May had always butted heads over their opinions on Iron Man.

“Did you bring my phone?”

“Oh—yes,” said May, and scrambled for it in her pocket. “Thought you might want it.”

Peter grinned, running a hand over Tony Stark’s iconic beard. “I _have_ to facetime Ned like this.”

Ned’s reaction would be the cherry on top to make this day absolutely perfect.


	2. Tony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I was absolutely blown away by the response this got, so even though it was originally intended to be a oneshot, I decided to write a little more. I couldn't stop thinking about how Tony and May's morning must have been, so here we are :)

Thirty-one years post Tony’s fifteenth birthday, he’d accepted he didn’t have a soulmate.

The media called it fate, comeuppance, or punishment, but Tony didn’t really care for the reasoning. He was more of a practical guy, and the practicality of the matter was: he didn’t have a soulmate.

That was his reality. It wasn’t ideal—and it definitely wasn’t preferable—but it was one of the realities of Tony Stark’s existence.

Which was why he was not pleased to wake up in a room he didn’t recognize in the slightest, with no recollection of how he got there.

Goddammit. He’d already survived enough kidnappings to last a lifetime.

But screw it. What was one more?

Tony briefly racked his brain, searching for any flashes of the night before, but his memory was disappointingly foggy by his own doing. He’d already downed several whiskeys too many by the point everything went fuzzy, and who knew how long he’d continued to drink after that.

Last he could remember, however, he had definitely been at the Tower. He faintly remembered drunkenly chatting to Steve and Natasha, and he doubted they would have allowed him to be kidnapped from the Tower without at least putting in a token effort to save him. And Natasha and Steve's token effort was more than enough to fight off a band of kidnappers stupid enough to try to take Tony from Avengers Tower.

Which meant Tony must have somehow left the Tower while blackout drunk and _then_ managed to get himself kidnapped.

Dammit. Where were Rhodey and Pepper when he needed them?

Oh, right. DC, and busy running his company for him, respectively.

With a groan, Tony forced himself up onto his elbows. His head didn’t hurt, which, given he should be hungover right now, was more suspicious than anything else. How long had he been unconscious?

He scanned the room he was being kept in. It was… not what he was expecting. Painted gray walls were covered in posters, and wooden shelves were adorned with figurines and Lego models. There was a heap of clothes shoved on a chair in the corner as if the room had been a mess and the occupant had made a haphazard attempt at cleaning it up a little. It looked like a teenager’s bedroom.

Actually, when Tony looked more closely, he realized that several of the posters on the walls were Iron Man or Avengers themed. Hidden amongst the Stormtrooper and Obi-wan Kenobi figurines were several Iron Man models and, he couldn’t help but notice, a Captain America or two.

The bedroom of a teenage Avengers fan, then. Which meant Tony had got drunk, left the Tower, and then been kidnapped by a fanatic. Not even a supervillain, but a crazy fan.

Jeez. The team was never going to let him live this down.

Fortunately, the fanatic clearly hadn’t had the foresight to tie Tony down, so he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and used the post supporting the upper bunk to pull himself up. With a strained creak, the post snapped in two. The whole upper bunk shuddered and threatened to fall, but Tony threw his hands above him to protect himself and, mercifully, the thing stayed.

He warily lowered his arms and eyed the bed with suspicion. The place was crumbling. Okay, noted.

Quick as he could, he crossed the room to the door. He paused for a moment, listening for signs of life and, when he heard none, he yanked on the door handle.

The door swung towards him all too fast and all too suddenly—and kept going, ripped off its hinges like they were made of tissue paper. The door clattered to the floor, making a heinous racket.

Somewhere nearby, a woman screamed.

Tony stared at the door in shock as a woman appeared in the doorway. She was probably about mid-forties and attractive—far from the teenage fanboy Tony had been picturing. The teenager’s mother, maybe?

The woman looked at the door, then at Tony, and her face twisted up like _he_ was the crazy one here. “What the hell happened?” she cried.

Tony stepped back, analyzing his surroundings for possible escapes. They appeared to be in a small apartment, so the front door would be somewhere nearby—but an unknown number of hostiles could be between him and it. Behind him was a window, but it could be locked, and from what little he could see of the view they were on a high story with no fire escape.

Stalling it was.

Tony cracked his knuckles. “You know, I would have thought that someone who was going to kidnap _me_ would have had the foresight to lock the door.”

The woman stared at him for a moment before her face twisted up even further.

“Kidnap you—what the—?”

“I’m gonna give you a chance to turn yourself in,” Tony continued, unbothered. “Tie yourself to a chair and stay there until SHIELD gets here and I’ll put in a good word with my lawyers ahead of the trial.”

“The trial?” The woman laughed, slightly hysterical. “Okay, I don’t know who you are, but you need to hold your horses just one second—”

Tony was scandalized. “You don’t know who I am?”

This woman had kidnapped Tony Stark by _accident_?

“No!” said the woman. “That is kinda the point of this. So would you please just calm down for one minute—”

The point of this? What the hell was “this”?

God Tony wished this had just been a simple kidnapping-and-ransom deal. Sit pretty, all trussed up to a chair, and wait for the Avengers to come and rescue him, entertaining himself by thinking up deflections for all the inevitable teasing that would ensue. If only he were so lucky. The crazies were always so much harder to predict.

“I’ll calm down once we get to the bottom of how you appear to have kidnapped an Avenger by accident.”

The woman’s eyes rounded. “An Aven—?” She cut herself off with a groan and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, Christ. What are you doing to me, Peter?”

Tony glanced around sharply. “Peter?” he questioned. “Who is Peter?”

The woman looked up at him through her fingers. “My nephew. It’s his birthday today.”

Oh no. Tony was not liking where this was going.

“He’s turning fifteen.”

Tony was _very much_ not liking where this was going.

He pointed a finger at her. “No,” he warned—the woman or the universe, he wasn’t quite sure. “No. Nuh-uh. Not happening.”

Immediately, the woman bristled protectively. “No, I’ll tell you what’s not happening. Peter was so damn excited to find out who his soulmate is, and if you ruin this for him—”

“I don’t have a soulmate,” Tony blurted.

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve looked in a mirror yet today but given that you look exactly like my nephew, I’d say you do.”

Oh, God. Tony ran a hand over his hair—way curlier than his own hair—and down his face. His jawline was soft and smooth, the kind of smoothness that came not from a tight shave, but from not being able to grow any hair there in the first place.

Panicked, Tony looked at his hands. Only they weren’t _his_ hands. His hands were tan and calloused from years spent tinkering in the lab. These hands were paler and smoother, and oversized in that gangly teenage way where your extremities grew first and everything else caught up later.

Shit. No no no. Tony didn’t have a soulmate. He _definitely_ didn’t have a soulmate thirty-one years his junior.

Why couldn’t this have just been a kidnapping?

The woman sighed and folded her arms, leaning back against the doorframe. “You don’t appear to be taking this too well, but this is Peter’s day and I won’t—I’m hoping you won’t, since you’re his soulmate, but—I’m not going to let you ruin this for him.”

“I’m not,” Tony protested. “Shit, give me a minute, but I’m not going to ruin his day. Shit. I thought you’d kidnapped me.”

The woman laughed, a short, sharp sound. “Yeah, I figured.” She held out a hand. “I’m May. Parker.”

Tony shook her hand. “Tony Stark.”

Now it was May’s turn to go pale, for her face to go slack and her eyebrows to twist up in disbelief.

“No,” she said, just as Tony had earlier. “Oh, no no no. Peter, you can’t do this to me. _Tony Stark_?”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “I’m flattered.”

“No no no,” May repeated. “When you said you were an Avenger, I assumed you meant… oh, what’s her name—the red woman.”

“Natasha?”

“No, not her. The other one. The young one.”

Well, at least Tony wasn’t the only one being antagonized now. He’d be sure to let Natasha know she was the “old” woman. “Do you mean Wanda?”

“Yes. Maybe? I don’t know, Peter knows more about the Avengers than I do. The one who actually looks young enough to maybe not have her soulmate yet.”

Wanda, then.

“You can’t be Tony Stark,” May continued. “That’s just—that’s not—why the hell is Peter’s soulmate _Tony Stark_?”

Tony was about the say that he didn’t know, but then he glanced down at his hands again, and he remembered the door, which was still on the floor, and the bed frame. He sighed to himself.

A fifteen-year-old with superstrength. Great. Tony’s life had been getting just a little too boring between all the superheroing and being responsible for a multi-billion-dollar company—he’d needed an overpowered teenager to spice things up again.

And, judging by how May had been startled he’d pulled the door off the hinges, it appeared that Peter had not deigned to tell his aunt about his superpowers.

“I don’t know,” Tony lied, covering for Peter’s ass. Then, to lighten the mood, he added, “I guess he’s quite the fan, though. Waking up thinking you’ve been kidnapped to your own face staring at you from multiple posters isn’t an experience I’d recommend.”

May laughed, shaking her head. “I also think the posters are a bit much. We’ll see if you’re the one who can finally convince him to take them down.”

They shared an awkward smile.

Tony already had his work cut out for him with his soulmate.

***

Getting to the Tower was a nightmare. Tony had had to turn down the muffins May had apparently bought especially for Peter’s birthday, which had prompted her to go on a brief rant about _entitled billionaires_ and _why couldn’t Peter’s soulmate have just been some polite teenager?_

Once she was done ranting, they’d made their way to the car.

“Mind if I drive?” Tony had said. “I drive myself.”

May had laughed. “That’s nice, dear. But you’re currently in my fifteen-year-old nephew’s body, and he doesn’t have a license. I’ll let you explain to the cops all about how you’re actually Tony Stark when we get pulled over.”

Which was how Tony had found himself in the passenger seat with an unfamiliar driver—something that always set his anxiety on edge—and to make matters worse, for some goddamn reason his hand had been stuck to the car door handle for the majority of the trip. He’d tried extra hard to make sure he didn’t rip the thing off its hinges and had somehow managed to stick himself to it.

Exactly what powers did Peter have?

And then came the headache that was trying to convince JARVIS to allow him entry to the Tower.

“Come _on_ , JAR,” Tony had complained after a solid ten minutes of begging as May watched on, unimpressed. “ _Yes_ , I know I don’t match your bio scans, and _yes_ , I’m fully aware that someone who does match Tony Stark’s bio scans is currently in the penthouse of the Tower. But I just gave you every single override code you have ever been programmed with. How about—remember that argument you got into with Dum-E that I had to break up? C’mon. It’s me. Let me in.”

At that, JARVIS had finally given in.

Meeting Peter had been nerve-wracking but, despite what May appeared to think of him, Tony wasn’t going to ruin this for Peter.

How could he when, thirty-one years post his own fifteenth birthday and years and years after he’d finally accepted he was alone, he’d discovered he actually had a soulmate? This was something he hadn’t even dared to dream of.

Within minutes of meeting Peter, Tony was endeared by him—regardless of how weird it was to talk to someone wearing his face. Their conversation over breakfast flowed smoothly, and they soon got caught up in a whirlwind of shared enthusiasm for science that had left everyone else at the table rolling their eyes.

“I didn’t understand why before,” May had commented to Natasha and Steve, “but now I think I get it.”

Eventually, despite the flowing conversation, the kid got fidgety and, after a few minutes of pressing on Tony’s part, Peter finally blurted—

“Could we facetime my friend? Please? He’s gonna go so crazy!”

And, because Peter already had Tony wrapped around his little finger, Tony said yes.

He had to admit it was pretty fun, watching Peter’s friend’s eyes bug out of his head when he caught sight of Tony Stark’s face—although Peter was grinning far too widely to really sell it if the kid had stopped to think about it.

The friend—Ned—gaped. “Tony _Stark_?” he spluttered. He slapped a hand over his mouth, glanced over his shoulder, then leaned in close to whisper. “Is this about Spider-Man?”

Tony looked up sharply. That vigilante from Queens? Why the hell would Ned assume—?

Peter glanced his way. “Uh—”

“It _wasn’t_ ,” said Tony, cocking his head at Peter. “But by all means, Ned. Continue. Tell me all about Spider-Man.”

“That’s really not necessary!” Peter squeaked—because apparently when Peter Parker was in control, Tony Stark's vocals chords were capable of squeaking.

Ned frowned, glancing between Peter and Tony. “Peter…?”

“Might Spider-Man have anything to with the fact I ripped your bedroom door off its hinges this morning?”

Judging by Peter’s panicked reaction, yes. He very much did.

“You did _what_?”

Ned looked between Peter and Tony and then his face lit up in excitement. “Oh my God. Oh my God. _Peter_. Is your soulmate _Tony Stark_ —” He dragged his hand down his face. “Oh my—uh—Peter isn’t Spider-Man, sir. Definitely not. That’s not what I meant.”

Peter dropped his head into his hands as Ned nodded earnestly.

Tony scoffed. “Right. Sure. Peter isn’t Spider-Man. Now if you’ll excuse us, Ned, an important matter has come up and Peter and I need to have an urgent conversation.”

Peter peeked up at Tony through his fingers. Tony smiled and reached out to ruffle his hair.


End file.
